


Lucidly Dreaming Sherlock

by Smushed



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hot, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Kisses, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, embarrassed!sherlock, intense kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smushed/pseuds/Smushed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mm? Yes, Sherlock?" But before John could receive a reply Sherlock pulled the newspaper down. The doctor looked startled and irritated. "Wha-" but then the papers were scattered over the floor and the nimble wrist that pulled them was on John's face instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucidly Dreaming Sherlock

This was getting ridiculous now, Sherlock thought, as his eyes slid away from contact with John's once again. The doctor just raised his brow, frowned, and made them both a cup of tea anyway. Sherlock could barely even look at him, his eyes would close with the image ingrained in his memory from the dream. The one he had last night, and the night before and the night before that. He squeezed his eyelids and shook his head slightly (whilst John was busy in the kitchen) and breathed calmly outwards. But it was no use. What made it all so much worse were that these were lucid dreams. Sherlock was completely conscious in them, and had complete free will over his actions; but acknowledged always that it was just a dream, so he really went wild with his imagination.

The tea was held in front of him by that familiar hand, and he held the mug by the rim (it burned his fingers) but the pain was a threshold of something to keep him _sane_. Oh _God_. It was supposed to be an experiment, he had been researching how to induce lucid dreaming. Within a couple of nights and exercises he had succeeded; but even Sherlock didn't realize the recesses of his mind held such- strong opinions of John Watson. Now, as he sat, trying not to get hot and bothered, he regretted his new midnight antics.

*

"John." Sherlock spoke, John set his tea from his lip and onto the desk beside him, but didn't look away from his newspaper.

"Mm? Yes, Sherlock?" But before John could receive a reply; Sherlock pulled the newspaper down. The doctor looked startled and slightly irritated. "Wha-" but then the papers were scattered over the floor and the nimble wrist that pulled them was on John's face instead, the tall figure was crouched as his hand tenderly caressed the sharp jaw. "Sherlock?" His attitude had transformed to pure timid shock, the ex-soldiers hands gripping the couch in anticipation. 

Sherlock then raised the smaller, but older man, out of his chair by the hands and gripped him by the hips. John was loose yet his firm muscles held him straight, allowing the detective to manoeuvre him however he liked. John's chest rose sharply as he gasped, Sherlock then diverted him to the wall and shoving John against it caused more papers to skid, a skull to rattle and some pens to roll. Sherlock had pressed himself against John, slightly grinding, John looked down with his eyes shut and groaned lightly. "Sherlock... Are you alr-" the feeble whisper was interrupted once more by ardent lips and a thumb and index finger guided the face. John became submissive and allowed Sherlock to continue, who then gripped John's hips and hitched him up the wall, he handled the familiar legs from hip to thigh and made them wrap around his waist. Sherlock gave them solid ground by keeping them supported with his knee against the wall. John tightened his legs to keep himself steady, a rasped and weak groan from the soldier swept against the plump pink lips of his housemate. Sherlock forced his hips against John's body, the pressure keeping the doctor in place and their unsteady and heating bodies causing small grazes of friction, Sherlock shuddered with uncontrollable pleasure as he felt his hardness against John. John's legs grew weak from the fascination of what was going on, but remembered to hoist himself back up and cling to the detective. Each of the gasps and whimpers were masked with the others mouth, neck, collarbone, anything their enthusiastic lips could catch. Fingers tangled in hair as their hands forever explored. Clothed bodies burning hotter and hotter as the detective held John; who was latched to Sherlock as though if he let go he would die.

* 

Sherlock opened his eyes, a huge clash, shatter and splash awoke him from the memory. His mug had slipped out of his hand. The tea John had made burned him and his clothes clung the fiery fluid to him, he stood up off he sofa in shock and panicked from the unexpected invasion if pain. He fumbled and pulled whatever clothes he could off of him. The pants and boxers he had managed to get to his knees and his shirt had been unbuttoned, or rather ripped. He cursed under his breath aggressively, hopping around the sitting room and he froze as John stood in front of him. He was mid-run, he came to check on Sherlock and had stilled, he was still leaning from his panicked jog. But his eyes were wide, his lips were pursed, his brow furrowed and he moved his palms outwards as if to declare: 'what, the hell, Sherlock', the doctors eyes avoiding with all their might Sherlock's crotch which was on full display.

Sherlock had also stopped his rushed strip, and stared back. They stood for a while, probably seconds but felt like many, many minutes. He was erect. (That damned memory of his stupid dream because of his idiotic experiment.) And the grave burn of embarrassment flooded Sherlock much hotter than the scalding tea, from his feet all the way up to his chest, blushing his cheeks and shoulders but he stayed as stern as he could. 

Instead of wasting time pulling his pants up he threw himself back onto the couch; lying on his chest but plummeting his face into the cushion. His pale, round and bare bottom stood out on the dark fabric of the couch, but as long as his face was hidden it didn't matter.

"Uhm. Sherlock?" John asked, but the detective could clearly hear the smile upon his lips. "Are you... I'll uhh- just... give you a minute." He couldn't suppress a laugh any longer, he forced himself to shift out of the room.

"You wouldn't be laughing if you knew I had _this_ BECAUSE OF YOU." Sherlock hissed into the cushion, but it was too muffled, and John was laughing too much to hear him. (Thank God). But something deep in Sherlock's embarrassment wished John knew.


End file.
